


That's Life

by ThatOddWriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOddWriter/pseuds/ThatOddWriter
Summary: Life doesn't always go according to plan.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter ONE

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first story on Archive if Our Own. I hope you all enjoy it! Please stay safe, everyone.

It's almost six o’clock when Dean unlocks the front door of their house and quickly slips inside. He shrugs out of his jacket and throws it sloppily over the coat rack in the corner. Glancing at the clock that hangs on the wall across the hall, he winces. He’s running late. _Very_ late.

“Cas, I’m home!” he shouts, as he hastily toes off his shoes and tosses his keys and wallet into the bowl on the sideboard. “Sorry I’m late. My last appointment took up more time than expected.”

There’s no reply and Dean’s mildly surprised when he walks into the living room and Castiel isn’t sitting on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest and a reproachful look on his face, because if there’s one thing his husband loathes, it’s being late.

“Cas?” Dean calls out again. He checks the kitchen and downstairs bathroom, but both are empty. Jogging up the stairs, he peeks into Castiel’s small office, before he heads for their bedroom at the end of the hall. “Babe, you in here?”

The door to their en suite bathroom opens, just as Dean enters the room. Turning his head, he watches his husband walk out, dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a white dress shirt. He looks fantastic.

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologizes again. “My last client arrived late and then—” he cuts himself off when he sees the crestfallen expression on his husband’s face. “What’s wrong?”

It’s then that he notices the thin, white stick Castiel has clutched in his right hand. With a sad sigh, Dean walks over to his partner and wraps his arms around him. Castiel buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and clings tightly to the back of his shirt.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly.

They’ve been here before. Many times. When they decided to start a family, neither of them expected the road to be this rough. Despite having endured numerous test and appointments with many different doctors, no one can really tell them what the issue is. Castiel’s reproductive system look perfectly fine, and Dean’s sperm count is above average. Their struggle to conceive is simply a mystery.

“I really thought this was the one,” Castiel whispers. “I’ve been feeling off all week, and I’ve been so tired lately…”

Dean tightens his hold and tucks his husband’s head under his chin. He doesn’t know what to say. For almost two years now, he’s been telling him to just be patient and not lose hope, that it will happen eventually. But, after being subjected to one negative pregnancy test after the other, Dean’s hope is starting to gradually dwindle as well.

They stay embraced in each other’s arms for a few minutes, neither of them speaking. When they finally break apart, it’s Castiel who’s slowly pulling back first.

“You need to get ready,” he says, giving Dean’s washed-out jeans and casual shirt a onceover. His eyes still look glassy, and Dean knows he’s struggling to keep his emotions in check. It never gets easier.

Cupping his husband’s face, Dean gently runs his thumbs over his cheekbones. “We can stay home, if you want. Sam and Jess will understand.”

Castiel takes a deep breath, composing himself, and shakes his head. “Millie has been looking forward to his for weeks. We’re not going to miss it.”

Despite the heaviness in his heart, Dean can’t help but smile when his six-year-old niece is mentioned. “She would never forgive us if we’d miss her first ballet recital, huh?”

“Never,” Castiel confirms with a soft smile. “I’ll be fine, Dean. This isn’t the first test I’ve taken that turned out to be negative.”

Dean presses a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “I love you.”

Closing his eyes, Castiel leans into the intimate touch. “I love you too.”

Because nothing is ever easy, they get stuck in traffic en route to the recital. Cursing under his breath, Dean switches lanes and throws a worried glance at the time on the car’s dashboard. “Crap,” he mutters.

“We’ll make it,” Castiel says calmly and reaches out to squeeze his husband’s thigh.

“I should have insisted on finishing the appointment on time,” Dean sighs. He cranes his neck in an attempt to see over the car in front of them, and grunts when his lower back twinges.

“Dean, calm down. You’re gonna pull something,” Castiel chuckles.

Dean huffs. “I _am_ calm.”

Even though his eyes are trained on the busy road ahead, Dean can _feel_ his husband roll his eyes. Castiel moves his hand to the back of Dean’s head and kneads the tense muscles at the nape of his neck.

“Your back probably aches because you’re always hunched over your desk,” Castiel guesses, and keeps up the gentle massage. Then he chuckles. “Or maybe you’re just getting old.”

Grumbling, Dean glares at his teasing husband. But, if he’s being honest, there might be a hint of truth in his words. It had started with his knee joints a few months ago, then his right shoulder, which he dislocated _twice_ in his twenties. Plus, his metabolism isn’t what it used to be, either. Maybe he _is_ getting old…

They arrive at the school with barely any time to spare. Parking the car, Dean and Castiel quickly exit the vehicle and speed across the parking lot. Even from afar, Dean recognizes his brother’s tall form standing next to the main entrance.

“We’re here, we’re here,” Dean smiles apologetically and slaps his brother on the shoulder as he rushes past.

Sam scowls at him, but refrains from saying anything. Instead, he ushers his brother and brother-in-law inside, and steers them toward the already packed auditorium. Another spasm twists Dean’s lower back when he turns away to allow a woman with two toddlers to pass. It might really be time to do something to improve his posture.

They’ve just sat down, when the lights in the theater are dimmed. A brunette woman with a high ponytail appears, and introduces herself as the dance teacher. She tells the audience about the process of learning ballet and about how much progress all her young students have made in the past couple of months. There’s a round of applause, before she steps off the stage and soft music begins to play.

A proud grin splits Dean’s face in two when he finds his niece in the midst of all the tiny dancers. Regardless of the fact that her father is basically a giant, Millie is one of the shortest girls in her group.

Glancing sideways, Dean smiles when he sees Sam and Jessica both with a camera in their hands. The proud parents are recording their little girl’s every step.

Dean wants to lean over to nudge Castiel, when he notices the sad look on his husband’s face. Delight fading, Dean grabs Castiel’s hand and squeezes it firmly. He knows how much his partner loves Millie, but he sometimes gets this longing look in his eyes when he watches her, and it breaks Dean’s heart. Castiel’s always talked about wanting a big family, and the fact that it’s just not happening is weighing heavily on him.

Dean’s leaning forward to wrap a comforting arm around his husband’s shoulders, when an unexpected wave of nausea crashes over him. Frowning at the abruptness of it, he presses a clenched fist to his lips and puts his other hand on his churning stomach.

“Dean?” Castiel whispers.

Breathing deeply in and out through his nose, Dean waits for the unpleasant sensation to pass. He mentally goes over everything he’s eaten during the day, but comes up empty.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Castiel prods persistently.

The intense nausea lingers for another minute, before it abates again. Exhaling, Dean wipes the back of his hand over his forehead. Cold sweat has gathered at his hairline and he feels hot and cold at the same time.

“I think I need some air,” he mutters and gives his worried husband a shaky smile. “I’ll be right back.” Castiel wants to protest, but Dean forces him to stay put with a hand on his shoulder. “Stay. You need to tell me every little detail about Millie’s performance later.”

“But—”

“Cas, I’m okay. I think the funny looking tacos you packed me for lunch are messing with my stomach,” he jokes.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel punches him playfully. “You’re an idiot.”

An elderly lady in the row behind them shushes them sharply, and Dean takes it as his cue to leave. Muttering excuses, he squeezes past the people sitting in their row and quickly gets out of the auditorium.

Out in the hallway, he takes a deep breath and runs a hand down his face. He’s already feeling better, but there’s still a lingering lightheadedness and his abdomen feels oddly tight. He’s headed for the restroom to splash some water on his face, when his stomach suddenly cramps up.

“Crap,” he swears, catching himself against the doorframe. With trembling fingers, he shoves the door open and stumbles into the bathroom. The intensity of the spasm causes him to double over and tears of pain sting his eyes. This is _not_ good.

His stomach gurgles warningly, and he barely makes it into one of the stalls before he’s throwing up his lunch and the snacks he had during the afternoon.

He doesn’t know how much time he spends hunched over the toilet bowl, but when the door creaks open and his concerned looking husband pops his head into the stall, he’s sure it must have been a while.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Castiel asks, blue eyes wide with concern. He crouches down behind his husband and rubs a hand up and down his curved back.

Swallowing, Dean attempts to straighten up. With the aid of his partner, he makes it into a semi-upright position and flushes the toilet.

He clears his throat and rubs a hand over his unsettled stomach. “My gut feels like it’s being ripped apart from the inside.”

Castiel’s gaze flickers down to his middle. “Is it your appendix?”

Dean clutches his stomach and shrugs wearily. “I don’t know…”

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” his husband decides, voice leaving no room for any kind of argument.

Dean winces and shakes his head. “No, we can’t. The recital—”

“—is less important than whatever it is that’s wrong with you,” Castiel interrupts. “Let’s go.”

Resigned, Dean allows his husband to wrap a supporting arm around his waist and lead him outside toward their car. Digging through his pockets, Dean hands over the keys and collapses into the passenger seat. He throws an arm over his eyes and groans. “I can’t believe this. We said we didn’t want to miss Millie’s show.”

Castiel places a comforting hand on his husband’s knee. “This is different.”

Dean sighs. “We need to tell Sam and Jess.”

“I already sent them a text,” Castiel replies as he starts the engine. He slowly backs up and turns toward the main road.

“Millie’s going to hate me,” Dean moans, thinking about how disappointed his niece is going to be when they’re not there after the show. She’s been so excited about the recital, and now they’re missing most of it.

“She’s young, but she’ll understand,” his husband promises. “We’ll just tell her that your tummy started to hurt really badly and that we had to leave.”

Dean hums, but isn’t convinced. He feels guilty. Guilty about missing Millie’s first ever ballet recital, and guilty about how Castiel managed to pull himself together for the show, while he can’t even deal with what’s probably just a nasty case of food poisoning.


	2. Chapter TWO

Castiel is forced to pull over twice during the short drive, and by the time they arrive at the hospital, Dean is not only sick, but also incredibly irritated and grumpy. “This is stupid,” he grunts, as his husband ushers him through the large glass sliding doors.

“ _Stupid_ would be ignoring your symptoms,” Castiel replies. “My uncle actually died from a burst appendix a few years ago.”

Dean grimaces. “Well, _that’s_ not encouraging…”

Another cramp twists his gut and he doubles over in the middle of the reception area. “Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, riding out the wave of pain.

While desperately trying to keep from vomiting all over the green linoleum floor, Dean can hear his husband call out and then talk to someone. Before he’s aware of what’s happening, a second pair of hands is reaching for him. He flinches, but Castiel’s palm on his cheek make him pause.

“Relax. She’s _helping_ ,” he explains.

Looking up, Dean meets the kind eyes of a young nurse. She smiles at him and slowly backs him up until the back of his knees hit what he realizes is a wheelchair. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” she promises. “I’m going to take you to a treatment room, where a doctor is going to take a look at you.”

“Can he come?” he asks, nodding toward his husband.

The nurse looks regretful when she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in there, but I bet your husband will be right here waiting for you, right?” She raises her eyebrows at Castiel, who nods and leans down to kiss his forehead.

“I have to fill out some paperwork and insurance stuff. Be good for the doctor, all right?” Castiel says, only half teasing.

Rolling his eyes, Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not a _child_ , Cas.”

“No, but you behave like one sometimes,” he chuckles.

The nurse interrupts their light banter by unlocking the wheelchair’s brakes. “Alrighty, let’s get you situated for Doctor Morrison.”

Dean’s not usually a needy or clingy person, but he can’t deny that he would have preferred to have his partner _with_ him, instead of in a waiting room. Especially when, halfway to their destination, a sudden wave of nausea ambushes him and he ends up puking all over his own lap. There’s not much to come up anymore, and even though the nurse tells him that it’s okay, he turns bright red and wishes the ground would open up and swallow him…

Twenty minutes later, Dean is dressed in a thin hospital gown and lying on a gurney with a kidney shaped bowl clutched in his hands. The nurse— Emily, as he learned— handed it to him after he kept gagging. She also elevated the back of the stretcher a bit, which helps with the nausea but somehow makes his stomach hurt worse.

“The doctor will be right with you, Dean,” she tells him, after she did some basic tests like taking his blood pressure and temperature and checking his heartrate. She briefly squeezes his shoulder, before slipping out of the room.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Doctor Morrison to arrive. The middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair extends his arm and gives Dean’s hand a firm shake. “Mister Winchester, how are you feeling?” he asks, while pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

Shifting on the gurney, Dean winces when his abdomen twinges again. He puts a hand on his middle. “I started feeling sick a few hours ago and my stomach is cramping like a bitch. It feels like someone is ripping my organs out.”

“Did you eat or drinking anything out of the ordinary?” the doctor asks, as he skims Dean’s file.

“No,” he answers. “I don’t think so.”

The doctor puts the folder back down and steps closer to the gurney. “If you can please pull up the hospital gown a bit? The symptoms you are describing do indeed sound like appendicitis, and I would like to immediately check on that.”

Grateful that he was allowed to keep on his underwear, Dean tugs the hem of the gown up until his stomach is exposed. He flinches when the doctor begins to palpate his abdomen. It doesn’t hurt per se, but it definitely feels uncomfortable.

“Hmm,” the doctor hums, as he presses down on the lower right side of Dean’s stomach. “Is the pain more intense here than anywhere else?”

Focusing on Doctor Morrison’s fingers, Dean tries to find an answer to the question. Eventually, he shakes his head. “Not really. It just feels tight and crampy all over.”

The doctor nods. “That’s a good sign, actually. I’m pretty positive that whatever’s making you sick has nothing to do with your appendix. But, just to be on the safe side, I would like to perform a quick ultrasound.”

Dean waves a hand at the doctor, giving him the _go ahead_. The faster they get this over with and he can get some meds in his system, the faster they’re out of here. If they’re lucky, they can still meet Sam, Jessica and Millie for dinner at the girl’s favorite restaurant.

The cold gel Doctor Morrison squirts on his bare stomach makes him flinch, and he feels strangely uncomfortable when he moves the ultrasound wand all over his middle.

“Alright, let’s see…” Doctor Morrison mutters under his breath, as he squints at the monitor. He pushes his glasses a bit higher up his nose and leans closer to the screen. Then he blinks. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Dean repeats. “Huh, _what_?”

“I’m not…” the doctor’s voice trails off again and Dean is getting frustrated again. Huffing, he tries to sit up a bit, but a firm hand on his chest is forcing him to stay down. “Stay. I’m not done yet.”

Dean sighs. “Then how about you tell me what you _see_?”

Doctor Morrison gives him a smile. “Well, good news; your appendix is one hundred percent fine. However, there _is_ something growing inside of you.”

Dean blanches. “I have a tumor?”

“Oh, god. No!” The doctor’s eyes widen. “It’s not a tumor. It’s a _baby_.”

“Oh, okay. Good. For one moment I thought— Wait, _what_?!” This time, Dean does sit up. The momentum of it gives him a headrush, but he couldn’t care less. With his mouth hanging open, he’s staring at the doctor.

Doctor Morrison chuckles. “You’re pregnant, Mister Winchester.” He points at something on the screen. “See this bright little spot right here? This is it. I’m not an obstetrician, but I would say you’re at least ten weeks along already.”

Unable to catch his breath, Dean keeps gaping at the grainy screen. This can’t be possible, it just _can’t_! Castiel has been trying to get pregnant for _year_ , and now _he’s_ the one who’s carrying their child? His husband is going to be absolutely heartbroken, because he’s always talked about wanting to carry their baby.

“I think I’m going to be sick…”

Doctor Morrison’s smile falter as he hands him the bowl. “Would you like me to get your husband?”

“No. I mean, yeah. I’m just…” Completely overwhelmed, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his forehead. “Crap, how did this even happen?”

The doctor pats his shoulder. “Let me go fetch your husband.”

The couple of minutes it takes the man to get Castiel aren’t nearly enough for Dean to pull himself together. When the door opens and his husband rushes in, he’s still staring dumbly at the white blob on the screen.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asks.

“Cas, I’m _so_ sorry,” Dean says in lack of anything better to say.

Castiel pulls back and frowns at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Swallowing, Dean’s eyes flicker back to the monitor. “I don’t even know how this happened. This has to be a mistake. I can’t be freaking pregnant!”

Frozen, his husband stares at him. “You’re _pregnant_?” he whispers.

Wincing, Dean nods. He’s about to apologize again, which is kind of ridiculous, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Except, before he can open his mouth, Castiel is throwing his arm around him and they almost topple off the gurney.

“Dean, that’s fantastic!”

Confused, Dean gently pushes his husband back. “Wait, you’re not mad?”

Now Castiel’s the one to look confused. “Why would I be mad?”

“Well, because you always talked about how awesome it would be to grow a baby inside of you. You’ve always wanted this and now…” He sighs and drops his gaze to his own stomach.

“Dean, listen to me.” Castiel takes his husband’s face in his hands. “Yes, I would have loved to be pregnant, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not excited about this. Who cares how our baby comes into this world? Are _you_ okay with being pregnant?”

Taken aback by the question, Dean instinctively places a hand on his stomach. “I—Yeah, I guess I am.”

A huge grin splits Castiel’s face and he drops his forehead to Dean’s. “We’re having a baby. We’re finally going to be parents,” he breaths against Dean’s lips, before he kisses him happily.

Two hours later, they’re lying in bed, legs tangled and wrapped in each other’s arms. Castiel’s head is pillowed on Dean’s shoulder, and he’s tracing soft patterns all over Dean’s bare stomach. “What do you think we’re having? A boy or a girl?” he asks, as he splays his hand over his husband’s middle.

Looking down, Dean shrugs. “Jess told me that having a girl makes you feel more nauseous, so this kid _has_ to be a girl.”

Chuckling, Castiel gives his stomach a little nudge. “You’re trouble already, little one. I see you’re coming after your daddy.”

“Hey!” Dean protests in mock-hurt. Then he sighs. “I still have no idea how this happened, though. I _never_ bottom and—”

Then it hits him. A few months ago, on Castiel’s birthday. They went out for a fancy dinner, had a bit too much expensive wine and got very creative in bed when they returned home. He looks at his husband, who must remember that night as well.

Laughing, Castiel pats his husband’s belly. “Well, I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.”

Chuckling, Dean covers Castiel’s hand with his own and within minutes, they both fall asleep. After all, they need to get as much sleep as possible now, because in a few months, their life is going to turn upside down. And they couldn’t be happier about that.


End file.
